BURNING. Burningburningburningburning… Stop.
Nothing.
Dick Grayson was twenty-five. It had been seven years since he'd worn the scaly green underwear and quite a bit had changed. For one, now he had pants. He still wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing. But a lot more than pants had happened in those seven years.
His old name had been passed on. Robin was no longer his identity, it belonged equally to three very different boys. It belonged first to Dick himself. He was the laugh and the hope that had brought Robin into existence in the first place. There was Tim, who was the intelligence and the drive that kept Batman, and Bruce, alive and (mostly sane). And then there was Jason. Jason who had been the burning life of Robin. The one who kept moving and changing and ended up with too much anger and love for him to hold.
Today, Dick was paying tribute to the kid that he had never spent enough time with in life. The one who at first wanted to be his friend, but eventually turned into a competitor for Bruce's affections. Dick blamed himself. Now, he just wanted to go back in time and give the kid a hug. Now, he wanted to teach him that double backflip instead of using it against him. Now, he just wanted his little wing back.
Over two years since Dick had spoken to Jay, and maybe nostalgia was getting to him. Dick didn't like to remember the silent competitiveness and violent fire coming from Jason. He chose to remember the kid who could barely read at the start of his time with Bruce but was devouring the entirety of Bruce's library three years later and never knew what to do with so much food and so much care.
It was this kid that Dick was ceremoniously reminiscing about on this day, two years after he died.
Nothing. Cold nothing? Warm nothing?
Nothing.
Burningburningburningburning shock.
Please, please stop.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.
Please, please stop.
Breathe.
Tim looked up at Alfred, shocking away from the case.
"What, is Bruce alright?"
"I believe so, sir. But we have a new case." Alfred replied in his unchanging manner.
Tim's eyebrows pinched and he swung over to the computer consoles. As he started to bring up any news about recent crimes, Alfred stopped him.
"We are not yet sure a crime has been committed. It simply seems that someone has disturbed the young master Todd's gravesite." To the untrained eye, Alfred would seem completely unbothered, but Tim, detective he was, decided not to mention the extra wetness in the caretaker's eyes.
"Oh, alright. Bruce wants us to call Oracle, see what types of videos she can find?"
"Precisely, sir."
Tim nodded in understanding and went to make the call.
Oracle picked up the phone on the first ring.
"Robin, what's up?"
"Hey Oracle. So it looks like someone messed with Jay's grave."
Barbara swallowed her flash of anger and quickly responded. "Damn. Some people… So, you want me to see if I can find some video feed of whoever did it?"
"Well, you really are an Oracle. I'll send you Bruce's notes, call me back when you get something?"
"Yeah. Shouldn't take long." She hung up without any formalities as the file popped up on her screen.
It was just a few short notes, hastily typed by Bruce on his phone, she assumed. It read Late October. Motive? None possible. Odd shaped depression. Digger interrupted?
Most of that was useless to her in the moment, but she stored it away. Late October. She could work that out. Barbara knew where to look for his grave, as she'd been to his funeral. She remembered the funeral like it was yesterday. The death of the punk had hit her hard. She'd tutored him for four years and still liked to believe that she had known him better than any of the bats.
He was always angry at himself. At first, he was angry that he couldn't read. He was angry that math didn't make any sense to him and he had no grasp of history and that the scientific theory didn't mean anything to his young, unschooled mind. Then he was angry that he wasn't getting the grades he wanted and wasn't doing enough to help the place he came from. Then he was angry at the world. Jason, through all that anger, always wanted to learn. He wanted to get better. He was trying to get out of that past, the past that eventually dragged him to his death.
Barbara hastily wiped away the angry wetness pooling behind her glasses and got to work. Luckily, Bruce had put Jason in the nicest graveyard in the city, with cameras covering every possible angle. She started watching in mid-October, per Bruce's suggestion, on fast forward. She saw the change happen the night of November second. Aha. She rewound to watch the night a bit slower. It happened at around two AM. There was the lawn, and then it moved and… what?!
She watched it again slower. And then again, slower. And then frame by frame.
It was him. Jason. He… It was him.